


Right Where You Are

by elwinfortuna, wheresmybloodynauglamir



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aegnor (gossiped about), Beren (disparaged), Beren/Lúthien (mentioned), Boys in Skirts, Comeplay, Cultural Differences, Daeron Invented Bagpipes, Dancing, Enthusiastic Consent, Eventual Happy Ending, Finarfin/Eärwen (mentioned), First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Angst, Fëanor/Nerdanel (referenced), Getting to Know Each Other, Giving Instructions During Sex, Hand Jobs, Laws and Customs Among the Eldar, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mereth Aderthad, Misunderstandings, No Rivalry Only Mutual Admiration, Non-Penetrative Sex, Poetry, Singing to each other, Thingol/Melian (mentioned), Thingol/OMC/OFC (mentioned), polyamory (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:35:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26204308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwinfortuna/pseuds/elwinfortuna, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheresmybloodynauglamir/pseuds/wheresmybloodynauglamir
Summary: Early in the First Age, two musicians meet and almost immediately find that they are perfect partners in every way. Thousands of years later, Maglor wanders far east and south into tropical lands, chasing the rumour of a musician who sings beside dark blue waters at the eastern edges of the earth. He knows who this must be, and in truth has never been able to shake off the memory of the one musician who could truly match him — Daeron of Doriath.  But what will happen when he finally catches up? Can there truly be happiness for people such as they have become?
Relationships: Daeron/Maglor
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27
Collections: Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020





	Right Where You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Story by elwinfortuna, art by wheresmybloodynauglamir.

**First Age 20**

_Come forth, come forth  
All ye peoples of the stars  
Come forth, come forth  
From wherever so far_

_We are the Noldor  
Come from Valinor  
I am Maglor  
And I welcome you! _

_Come forth, come forth  
Be merry in dancing  
Come forth, come forth  
Be ready for feasting_

_We are the Noldor  
Come from Valinor  
We now open the door  
And we welcome you! _

With a flourish of harp-strings, Maglor ended his song, and applause broke out. Fingolfin stepped forward, saying some pleasant words in his most charming manner about how pleased he was that so many had travelled so far to the Pools of Irvin to join them for this great feast, and that this was a celebration of the joining of hands between the Noldor and Sindar to drive Morgoth back behind the borders of his own frozen lands and so to keep him hemmed in.

Maglor was not listening, however, for suddenly from the back of the crowd, eyes met his. They were dark blue eyes, beautiful and full of knowledge, set in a face that was more than merely pretty. The Sinda held a flute in his hand, and had what looked to be another instrument strapped to his back. His hair was dark, long, and full, with reddish lights in it from the light of the setting sun. He wore blue garments, the colour of the sky, with wide trousers that floated around him almost as a skirt would have done.

When their eyes met, the Sinda smiled, and beckoned with the hand holding the flute. Maglor nodded in acknowledgement. He could not move until Fingolfin finished speaking.

"So we welcome all to our Mereth Aderthad!” Fingolfin said. "Let the doors be opened, and let laughter be heard! Feast to your heart's content, dance until feet be weary, sing with us, rejoice with us!"

The doors of the great tent behind the stage were pulled apart at that moment, and slowly the crowd began to filter away from the stage in search of food. Maglor stood, watching as Fingolfin walked down into the crowd, smiling at one, shaking hands with another, embracing a third.

He threw the cover over the standing harp to protect it from the spray of water from the Pools and any rain that might fall. Then he looked back at the place where the Sinda had been standing. Those beautiful eyes met his, and they both smiled at each other. Maglor quickly descended the steps, walking toward the Sinda, who did not move, but watched every step.

"I am Daeron, loremaster of Elu Thingol," the Sinda said, holding out his hand once Maglor was near enough. "And you must be Maglor son of Fëanor, the renowned musician."

Maglor took the offered hand, the skin callused in ways similar to the calluses he himself bore, the marks of a musician talented in a variety of musical instruments, and bowed over it before releasing it. "I am Maglor," he answered. "It is a great pleasure to meet you, Daeron. Might we, do you think -- "

"I was wondering if you would --"

They spoke over each other, and Maglor made a gesture to indicate that Daeron should speak on.

"Would you like to walk with me? I want to know all about you and about the lands over the Sea."

Maglor smiled. "Well, I want to know all about you and the lands here, so yes, Daeron, I will walk with you."

“We will go to my cabin, if you are willing.”

Maglor nodded agreement and Daeron reached out his free hand, taking Maglor's in his own. They began to walk together through the twilight away from the crowd. Maglor spotted Maedhros sitting on a log next to Fingon, both of them with plates full of food in their laps, chatting happily. Fingolfin was still roaming through the crowd himself, shaking hands and kissing babies, Turgon now following him with young Idril by his side.

"I only just arrived today," Daeron said, "so my cabin is in a bit of a mess, I'm afraid. I haven't had the chance to arrange it properly."

For the Feast of Reuniting, which would last three full days, Fingolfin had caused to be built dozens of small wooden cabins, large enough to house around four people each in relative luxury and up to eight in slightly more cramped conditions. Noldor royalty and visiting Sindar dignitaries were given the cabins to stay in. There were also several bath-houses built to take natural advantage of the Pools, a large facility for use as a kitchen and a tented meeting-house attached to it where food was served in a large room full of round tables, in addition to the outdoor auditorium Daeron and Maglor were walking away from.

As well as the cabins, many people were camping in tents in designated areas, with spaces arranged for what few fires would be needed for the mild summer nights.

Maglor knew that Fingolfin had been disappointed that Doriath sent only two people as representatives of King Thingol. He had spoken of his hope that Thingol and Melian themselves would come, and had set aside the two largest and most luxurious of the cabins for their delegation. In the absence of any other plan, he had ultimately given one of those cabins to Daeron, and the other to Mablung.

"I don't mind a mess," Maglor said. "Perhaps I can be of help. I'd rather not go back to my own cabin."

"Why?" Daeron asked, smiling. "Is yours a mess too?"

Maglor sighed. "Only in the sense that I'm meant to be sharing it with my cousins Finrod and Aegnor, as well as my brother. Maedhros is used to me, and Finrod is a friend, but Aegnor has no ear for music, and no tolerance for it."

Daeron nodded. “There are always a few who cannot hear the Song. I know someone named Saeros who is much the same.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Maglor said quickly. “I like Aegnor well enough. You’ll probably meet him later. He wears his hair short, in spikes, you can’t miss it. Says it intimidates his foes, but he’s been wearing it like that since he was in his thirties and the despair of his mother, Princess Eärwen of the Teleri.”

“Eärwen daughter of Olwë?” Daeron asked, and at Maglor’s quick nod, went on. “She was born on this shore, did you know? I met her when she was but a babe in arms.”

“I did not know that,” Maglor said. “The Teleri and the Noldor have not lived near each other for a long time, and the marriage of Arafinwë, my half-uncle, to Princess Eärwen was accounted something of a nine-day’s wonder among us.”

Daeron gave him a half-smile. “It is strange, is it not, how a little distance can create such divides? In fact, I wrote a song about it!” He gave Maglor a wider smile. “Here we are at my cabin. I’ll play it for you, if you like?”

Maglor laughed. “I would never turn down a chance to hear the greatest musician and loremaster of the Sindar play and sing for me.”

In the midst of opening the door, Daeron turned, gesturing Maglor in. “Well, I have already heard you, so it seems only fair.”

Just inside the door, Maglor stopped, looking around at the room in front of him. “Did you bring ALL your musical instruments?” he asked in wonder.

“If I say no, can I take you home with me to Doriath so you can see the rest?” Daeron said, coming up beside Maglor and giving him a wink.

Maglor felt his cheeks go hot. “You certainly have enough to outfit near a full orchestra. Is that seven different flutes? And three harps, and what is that, I’ve never seen an instrument like it before?”

“That is something I created myself!” Daeron said, moving forward to take the strange contraption in his hands, and blowing into the reeded pipes at one end of it. As he did so, the air in the skin below the pipes inflated and a curious noise emerged, something between a drone and a whine. Maglor made a slightly pained sound but Daeron continued playing, running up and down a series of notes. The noise was deafeningly loud.

When Daeron stopped, Maglor just stared at him, eyes wide. “What in the name of all the Valar was that?” he said at last.

Daeron set the instrument back on the table where it had been. “I call them skinpipes,” he said. “They are spectacular at being heard a long way away. I’m still working on them; they’re a little too hard to control.” He took a deep breath. “But that wasn’t the song I was going to play for you!”

Maglor smiled. “I can see why you said things were a bit of a mess. You brought so much! I don’t have this many instruments myself, just my travel harp, my favourite flute, and a rebec. I borrowed Fingon’s large harp for the performance earlier, though I designed and built that one myself before giving it to him. It was the least I could do, really…” He trailed off, glancing around the room, from the set of drums on the floor next to the low couch to the flutes spread out on the table, to the strange bagpipe instrument near them, the fiddle leaning against the couch itself, four trumpets of different kinds on a chair, and the three harps, ranging in size from small enough to be strapped to one’s back all the way to taller than Daeron himself, sitting on the floor near the door, along with a single large bag that clearly held Daeron’s clothing.

There was another door at the far end of the room leading to a bedroom, and Maglor could just glimpse the rich dark fabrics of the bed hangings. For a moment he longed to tug Daeron and a couple of the smaller instruments in there with him, and shut out the whole festival in favour of making music.

Well. Not just music.

Daeron grinned over at him as if he could easily pick up on the tenor of his thoughts, and Maglor felt his cheeks warm again. There was something so disarming, so charming about this Sinda. He had none of the artifice of the Vanyar or the stubbornness of the Noldor. In fact, Daeron reminded him most of one of the Teleri, though he looked nothing like any of them.

“I promised you a song,” Daeron said, breaking in on Maglor’s thoughts. “Come, sit down.” He was rapidly clearing a space on the couch, and gestured to it. Maglor made his way over, carefully stepping past the harps and the fiddle.

“Which instrument are you going to use?” Maglor asked, sitting down.

“None but my voice,” Daeron replied, and without further ado, began to sing, his voice soft but powerful.

_We began a Journey long ago_  
_We were one people and yet three_  
_We shared our food, our boats, our homes_  
_By the shore of an inland Sea._

_We divided first upon that shore_  
_And our peoples were no longer three_  
_Some we left behind, some went before_  
_Some we parted company._

_Upon the way we lost a few_  
_They left us, why who can tell?_  
_Some feared the mountains high_  
_Some fell in love with a dell._

_Some lingered in the woodlands_  
_Speaking to the trees_  
_Some followed a river South-away_  
_Some just followed the breeze._

_At last we reached the shores of the Sea_  
_And an island took some more._  
_We tarried and lingered, awaiting our king_  
_Lost on this Hither Shore._

Daeron paused then, and smiled at Maglor.

“I can add one more verse to this song now,” he said.

_Beyond all hope, some then returned_  
_Bright-eyed from across the Sea_  
_We were one people, now we are more_  
_But Quendi we ever shall be._

Daeron held the last note, long and pure, looking straight into Maglor’s eyes as though he wished to impart some sweet and subtle meaning.

Maglor stood up and then bowed, in his best formal manner. “A beauteous song by a truly great loremaster. I am honoured that you have sung it for me.”

Daeron laughed lightly, coming over and taking both of Maglor’s hands in his own. “I was honoured to sing it for you, Bright-eyes.”

Maglor could stand it no more. He bent just slightly, for they were near in height, and kissed Daeron on the mouth, pulling him close. Daeron released his hands but it was only to clasp him at the waist and, with a soft huff of laughter, sink into their shared kiss with enthusiasm. Maglor let his hands wander over the strong muscles of Daeron’s back and shoulders, dove into clouds of dark hair, traced around to linger on the curves of his face, the high brow, the narrow cheekbones, the softness of his cheeks.

It seemed both hours and no time at all when Daeron reluctantly drew back, smiling and smiling at Maglor. “So that’s how it is.”

“That’s how it is,” Maglor said, unable to keep the smile off his face.

Daeron grinned at him. “You’ve heard me sing, and I’ve heard you play and sing for an audience, but I haven’t played for you, and you haven’t sung just for me.”

“That is true,” Maglor said, wondering where Daeron was going with this. “Do you want me to sing you a courting song? To seduce you with sweet melodies?”

The glance Daeron cast him then was smouldering. “Yes.”

Maglor looked about at the crowded room. “Do you have an instrument you prefer I play?” He couldn’t help putting a note of innuendo into his voice, and Daeron caught it, smoothed a hand down his body as if to gesture to the instrument he truly wanted, but then picked up the fiddle leaning against the couch.

“This one?” Daeron asked. “Have you played it before?”

“Something similar, yes,” Maglor said. “We called it a violin. But I didn’t bring any of them with me.”

“Why not?”

A look of sadness crossed Maglor’s face. “I left them all behind in a place I never returned to, and had no opportunity to pack. Danger and trouble drove us from there, and for once music was not on my mind.”

“Oh,” Daeron breathed, placing the fiddle into Maglor’s hands and then trailing a finger down his cheek. “I am sorry for your grief. Can you sing of it, or is it yet too near?”

“Too near, too near,” Maglor answered, gathering himself together. “I would rather sing of new lands and new loves.” He drew the bow across the fiddle, testing it. “Yes, I think I can play this.”

For a few moments he just played notes and snatches of tunes on the fiddle, trying it out. Then he looked up, certain and ready.

_When I was young, I said to myself,_  
_“Child, love is not for thee._  
_You’d rather spend time as a harping elf,_  
_Strumming away beside the Sea.”_

_You’re for the music, the music for you_  
_And no one shall come between you two_  
_I’m for the music, the music for me,_  
_And there’s no way to make two three._

_When I was older, I said to myself_  
_“Child, find one just like thee._  
_Make sweet music with another elf,_  
_Make sweet love by the Sea.”_

_You’re for the music, the music for you_  
_And no one shall come between you two_  
_I’m for the music, the music for me,_  
_But there’s one way to make two three._

_Now I’ve found you, I say to myself_  
_“Child, what a sight to see!_  
_You’ve found someone just like yourself_  
_Making such a sweet melody.”_

_You’re for the music, the music for you_  
_And I won’t ever come between you two_  
_I’m for the music, and the music for me_  
_So will you help me make two three?_

The room was very silent as Maglor finished singing. He laid the fiddle aside on the low table next to the flutes, and looked up to find Daeron’s hands over his mouth and his eyes shining with tears.

“Oh,” Maglor breathed, going to him and taking him in his arms. “I did not mean, I wasn’t trying to—”

“Hush, hush,” Daeron said, pulling him close. They were whisper-close to each other, mouths just a kiss apart. “You are impossibly talented, I am swept away, I am in awe!”

Daeron kissed him, slow and sweet and sensual, and Maglor felt his ability to think clearly sliding away again. His knees went weak at the press of Daeron’s tongue into his mouth.

When Daeron drew back this time, it was to take Maglor’s hands into his own.

“I’d like nothing more than to take you into that bedroom and ravish you senseless, you sweet thing,” he said. “But we can’t, not now at any rate. I’m supposed to be a diplomat, a representative, and I shouldn’t be spending the whole festival hidden away in my cabin seducing the best musician I have ever heard.”

Maglor couldn’t help smiling at that, but then his expression changed to one of slight concern. “Much as I want to, it’s too soon to talk about marriage.”

Daeron gave a quick laugh. “Marriage? I wasn’t proposing.”

Maglor looked down at their linked hands. “I…when someone says they want to ravish you senseless, it means they want to marry you. At least, it does for the Noldor.”

“Ah,” Daeron said. “Not for us. Sweet thing, do your people not make love outside marriage? Ever?”

Maglor shook his head. “The Valar forbade it. That’s why my grandfather had to get a special ruling to marry his second wife, after my grandmother’s passing.”

Daeron shrugged. “For our part, Queen Melian doesn’t care. It’s not like her marriage to King Thingol marked the first time they were together like that.” He looked over at the couch. “Here, come and sit with me.”

The loremaster in Maglor came to the fore as he sat down with Daeron. “Would you explain it? Where do your laws regarding marriage come from? Ours were handed down by the Valar, or created by my grandfather.”

“It’s a mixture,” Daeron said, taking one of Maglor’s hands in his own again. “I recall our days before the Journey, in Cuiviénen, when there was very little tradition or law regarding marriage. People who wished to be together would simply be together, and if the relationship lasted, they became known to be partners. This did not necessarily mean couples, either.” He paused, looking across at Maglor. “Is this making sense?”

Maglor nodded. “I’ve heard rumours of this, and my own parents were wed far from Tirion, alone under the stars, but by their own accounts, they made vows to each other before joining their bodies.”

“Vows certainly were made, but they were not required for the joining of bodies,” Daeron said. “I will tell you my own history. I was born into a _melanel_ , a relationship of three, and my parents were Nudwë, Alenië, and Elwë, who is today Elu Thingol. I am not related by blood to him, but he is my parent nonetheless. When Alenië and Nudwë were kidnapped long ago and taken to Utumno, there to endure what tortures we know not, I was but a small child. Elwë raised me from then on, and we endured our grief together. It gave me great joy when he came walking out of Nan Elmoth hand in hand with our Queen Melian, for I had feared him lost the way my parents were. His daughter Lúthien is as a sister to me, and often we roam far under the boughs of Neldoreth, playing, singing, and dancing together.” He took a breath. “Does this make sense?”

“It does,” Maglor said slowly. “I have always been told that such relationships were against the natural order of things and were forbidden by the Valar. My father was no great follower of any of the Valar, but then we were in Aman and bound to obey their rules.”

“You are no longer in Aman, and the choices of whether you obey their rules is yours,” Daeron said.

“I…I do not know. My heart and my body urge me on, but my mind says slow and careful.”

Daeron smiled softly and kissed Maglor on the lips, gently caressing his face, then booping Maglor on the nose with a grin. “Then slow and careful it shall be, sweet thing.” He sat up, reaching for two flutes and handing one to Maglor. “Now, I have eagerly hoped ever since I heard of you that we should work together on a song. Will you?”

“With all my heart,” Maglor answered. “Play a short theme, and I will try to find the lyrics for it.”

Daeron thought for a moment, and then played several twittering notes in quick succession, and at Maglor’s nod, played them again.

“ _Love is made of hope / and hope is all we need_ ,” Maglor sang softly. He lifted his own flute and building on the theme, played a few more notes.

“ _Hope is all we dream / and love is all we see_ ,” continued Daeron.

Time seemed to disappear as they slowly worked out the tune and the lyrics. Evening waned to night, and it was near midnight before they emerged from their shared daze to look at each other in delight.

“We should get some fresh air,” Daeron said, standing up. Two candles, lighted at some point during the long discussion, sat on the table before them, and Daeron picked one of them up, moving to the door of the cabin and opening it. A breeze rushed in, blowing back his dark hair and blowing out both candles.

Maglor followed him out into the moonlit night. It was not quite the same lovely silver-lit air he remembered from Tirion but it was beautiful nonetheless. Daeron’s dark eyes beckoned him, and not far away through the trees, he could see the silver pools of Ivrin shining and hear laughing Elves bathing in it. The world was fair, and Daeron was beautiful, and he was in love.

* * *

**Thousands of Years Later**

The jungles of the eastern lands were humid and hot, full of strange beasts, foul spiders, and venomous snakes. Not for the first time, Maglor began to regret having travelled all this way in a vain search after a rumour. Whispers went about that a singer of great magical powers and long dark hair, an ancient and venerable Elf, had long ago banished himself to these lands, eschewing all society, to mourn the loss of his lady-love, the fairest creature that has ever been in all creation, fair Lúthien.

Hope that Maglor would ever find the object of his search was faint, and even if he did, would Daeron do anything but scorn him and run from him? After the Feast was over, and they had parted from each other with many a kiss and a promise from Daeron to seek him out, had he not played him utterly false?

No word came from Doriath in the years that followed, and eventually Maglor had to face facts that he had simply been a dalliance, not a true heart-mate. He was abandoned and alone, rejected for Lúthien who had in the end rejected Daeron.

And yet he could not quite find it within himself to completely give up hope that he would find Daeron. As far as he could tell, the two of them were the last relics of the First Age in Middle-earth. Maybe now Daeron would find it in his heart to at least provide some answers, if Maglor could only find him.

Maglor struggled onward through the bushes. He could smell the sea-air not far off and it sparked a great weariness and homesickness in him. There was sand just beyond that line of bushes. He plunged hastily forward, forgetting to look at where he was placing his feet, and gave a sudden yell when he was jerked upwards by the ankle to swing helplessly, just a few steps from the shoreline. Then something hit him on the head, and he knew no more.

He awoke to dimness, and the feeling of something soft beneath him, and a very sore head. With a groan, he opened his eyes. He was lying in a small cabin on a low couch covered with a rough-spun linen blanket. Someone was moving around nearby, and after a moment, they came over and settled down on the couch next to him.

The cascade of long dark hair made it clear who it was even before Maglor saw his captor’s face.

“Daeron,” he said with another groan.

“Hush, sweet thing,” Daeron murmured softly. “Drink this.”

Maglor obeyed, tasting unknown but very sweet and delicious fruit juice combined with cold spring water. It was reviving, and Maglor’s headache began to fade. As it did, other emotions came to the fore, stirred by the sight of his long-lost love, sitting there as though there was no betrayal between them.

“I’m sorry for trapping you, for all it was unintentional…” Daeron began, only for Maglor to sit up, pushing away the blanket, and cut him off.

“You’ve got a lot more than that to be sorry for,” Maglor said, setting his jaw firmly. “Pity Lúthien didn’t exactly work out for you!”

"Work out for me?" Daeron said, astonished. "What was there to work out? I betrayed her! I was trying to protect her but I was wrong and I have always grieved it."

"From the tales I hear, you were jealous of Beren from the very moment Lúthien met him."

“Jealous? Of that lumbering man-ape with all the grace and subtlety of a charging oliphant, crashing through the underbrush yelling about nightingales like someone who’s had a touch too much of the wrong mushrooms? Jealous! I was scared of him, that’s the truth, and thought Lúthien bewitched to even bear to look upon him, much less sleep with him.”

“But you loved her, the tales say. You put all your thoughts of her into your music.”

"Oh, you _have_ got the wrong end of the stick!" Daeron stood up and began to pace about. "I never loved her like that. Didn't I tell you she and I were like brother and sister?"

"You carefully emphasised that you weren't related by blood!" Maglor moved to the edge of the couch, preparing to attempt to stand up.

"Don't try to stand yet," Daeron said with a sigh. He moved to sit down by Maglor again, taking his hand. "Sweet thing, she was my sister. I was trying to protect her from what I perceived as an ill-advised liaison. All I did was get her imprisoned, by her own father nonetheless. I was wrong, and I have had leisure to repent my deeds in sorrow here by the dark waters of the eastern seas."

"Then why did you never get in touch with me after the Feast?"

"I was forbidden to," Daeron said. "Mablung saw us together on the last night, and I got a lecture all the way home, and then another lecture from the King himself. Sad as I was, he was still my King and my father. And then, when I left, I fled from my disgrace and I could not bear to stay in Beleriand. But I dreamed, so many times, that you were with me, across all the miles that separated us and that we could be together, wed or not."

Maglor turned to look at him, slowly contemplating that beloved face. "There are no more miles between us," he whispered.

"Only inches, and I fear to cross them," Daeron said. "You were so angry with me, just a moment ago."

Maglor bowed his head. "I am no longer angry."

Still Daeron hesitated, so Maglor reached over, placing one hand on Daeron's face, and slowly drew him into a kiss.

It was like that first kiss all those years ago, and yet not. It was equally tentative, equally sweet. But there was a world of dreams swirling between them now, long-hoped for and long-abandoned fantasies that all came back at once, falling into Maglor's mind like the rain falls upon the earth, making it alive and fruitful once more.

" _Love is made of hope..._ " Maglor began to sing, soft and slow. Daeron joined in on the second line.

_"And hope is all we need._  
_Hope is all we dream_  
_And love is all we see._

_Oh, love lift me out of the shadows_  
_Oh, love lift me into the stars_  
_For love it has nothing of Shadow_  
_For love finds you right where you are."_

Maglor sang the next verse, almost in a whisper, his lips a kiss away from Daeron's.

_"To find you I crossed the Sea_  
_In finding you I found me._  
_Beyond all hope, here you are_  
_And I pray, please stay with me."_

Daeron smiled softly, and when Maglor went silent, began to sing.

_"I followed the furthest star_  
_Abandoning hope, I traveled far,_  
_But beyond all hope, here you are!_  
_And I pray, please stay with me."_

Together, they slowly sang the chorus again, and when it was over, Daeron breathed the last line again. " _Love finds you right where you are._ And so you did, and all my hiding and shame was for nothing at all in the face of you. You have walked into the trap now. Are you sure it is where you wish to be?"

"Sure?" Maglor asked. "It is the times I have been most sure that I have done the most harm. I am not sure at all. But I am willing to take a chance, and to hope again."

Daeron brushed a tender hand over Maglor's hair. "Then, according to your custom, I will make marriage vows to you before we lie together."

Maglor smiled and sighed, shaking his head, then began to sing:

_"What need have we of vows?_  
_For all we have is now._  
_Our lives shall be_  
_The way that we_  
_Shall show each other how_  
_For love is not a vow."_

"I do not need vows from you to be with you," Maglor said. He slowly rose to his feet. The headache was gone but he still felt a little unsteady, until Daeron rose with him, wrapping an arm around his waist.

Taking a breath, Maglor looked around the small room. Light shone in through the front door and a sea-breeze, scented with salt, swept in. The couch he had been lying on was mainly composed of furs and rough linen blankets. Across the room he could see a table and two chairs, and at the back of the cabin, a workspace full of musical instruments, some of which Maglor had never seen in his life before. He could see a set of drums, several reed-flutes, another set of Daeron's terrifying skinpipes, and an instrument that looked like a long skinny trumpet.

Looking back across the room again, he noticed his pack, small harp strapped to it, lying near the front door.

"We need to get you out of these rags," Daeron said, plucking at Maglor's shirt.

It _was_ ragged, but Maglor could not help laughing. "That is the worst excuse...!"

"Any that works will do," Daeron said, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

Maglor smiled back at him, and then slowly, deliberately, removed the shirt, letting it fall to the ground. Daeron stepped forward, tracing a finger down Maglor’s torso, finally hooking it in the waistband of Maglor’s breeches with a questioning gesture. “Are you going to stop with the shirt, or favour me with more, Bright-eyes?” he asked, his own eyes alight with anticipation.

“I think I’m long done with slow and careful,” Maglor replied, and in one fluid motion, let them fall and stepped away from them to stand naked before Daeron. “Now I think it’s your turn.”

“ _I_ am not wearing rags,” Daeron said with a grin. Indeed he was not: he wore a soft sleeveless yellow top that exposed his midriff and a flowing yellow skirt of the same material.

“They’re very nice clothes,” Maglor replied, “but they’d look even nicer on the floor.”

Daeron wasted no time in slipping his garments off, and in seconds was standing before Maglor with nothing on but a smile. “Come here, sweet thing,” he said, crooking his finger.

Maglor obeyed. The feeling of skin-on-skin was electrifying, like being caught in a thunderstorm with lightning crackling all about. Daeron drew him into a kiss, fingers tracing the tip of an ear, and Maglor cried out, all but overwhelmed.

“You’ve never done this, have you?” Daeron said softly, pulling him down onto the couch. “I should be slow and careful myself.”

“Please do not be,” Maglor gasped. “Overwhelm me like the Sea.” And then his voice was lost in an ocean of sighs and moans as Daeron took him at his word, kissing him at ear and neck and nipple and mouth.

He pressed small bites leaving marks at the base of his throat. His hands wandered up, down, across, between, over, finally ending up slowly stroking Maglor’s erection. With a keen smile, he watched as Maglor writhed under his touch, eyes closed and head thrown back, dark hair spilling over the edge of the couch, mouth open and pouring forth the sweetest cries.

“Come for me,” Daeron whispered. “Let me see you undone entirely.”

Maglor could not hold back even long enough to say Daeron’s name; orgasm crashed down upon him like a great wave, wiping out all that remained of sense or thought, or indeed, for a moment, consciousness itself.

He returned to his body to find Daeron lying beside him, painting patterns of swirls with his fingers across his stomach with his seed, smiling fondly at him.

“Oh, I…,” Maglor breathed, and then paused. “What are you doing?”

Daeron continued to let his fingers play with the remains of Maglor’s come. “Enjoying myself,” he said, pressing a kiss to Maglor’s shoulder. “And waiting for you to recover.”

“I want to touch you,” Maglor said. “And taste you.” He was blushing, but Daeron did not seem to notice.

“I want you to do both of those things and so much more,” Daeron said.

Thousands of years of fantasies and songs cannot quite make up for a lack of experience, but they do make for an enthusiastic learner. Maglor followed Daeron’s lead, paying close attention to the way he moved, the sounds he made, and occasionally the swift careful instructions he gave.

“Take me in your mouth,” Daeron said softly, directing Maglor to the precise location he wanted him. “Cover your teeth with your lips and just suck at first.” Maglor followed directions, and Daeron sank back with a low moan. “Oh, that’s so good. Now you can use your tongue…that’s it.”

Maglor quickly lost himself in the feel of Daeron’s hands on his head, subtly directing him, the velvet hardness of Daeron’s cock in his mouth, and the way Daeron moaned and shivered with delight at every touch from his lips or tongue.

“I’m not going to last,” Daeron breathed. “I want it to last forever….”

With a final breathless gasp, Daeron came in his mouth, flooding his senses with the bittersweetness of his seed. Maglor held him close, and kissed him softly. It was as if the whole world had contracted to an island the size of the small room they were in.

After what could have been a few seconds or a few hours, Daeron stretched like a cat, smiling up at Maglor. “You probably haven’t thought to wonder this yet,” he said, “but you should know that I haven’t been with anyone else since you. All others paled beside you.”

“There never was anyone else for me but you,” Maglor answered. “It was either you or no one at all.”

“It’s me, then,” Daeron said with a grin, sitting up. “Come, let me show you around my little world.”

They rose from the couch, and Daeron gathered his clothing in one hand, kicking Maglor’s old clothes away. “You’re not putting those back on,” he said. “I have some things that will fit you.” He opened up a trunk near the back of the cabin and rifled through it, finally coming up with a pair of loose leggings and a cropped top with open sleeves in dark red and gold.

Maglor also spotted a pair of dark leather sandals. “Could I have those?”

“You’ll hardly need them on the beach just outside,” Daeron said, “but certainly if you want.” Maglor nodded a thanks and got dressed.

For his own part, Daeron put the yellow top and skirt back on, and went barefoot. Maglor looked around for jewellery but Daeron did not seem to own any. Finally he went to his pack, unhooking the small harp he carried with him, and fished through it, coming up with a couple of gold bracelets. For a Noldo to be in a safe place and not wear jewellery was unthinkable.

Hand in hand, they went out onto the small beach. The cabin was set just a matter of a couple dozen steps through the trees beyond the high tide mark, and the beach sloped gently downhill to the dark blue waters of the Sea, which seemed to lap at the land with all the tenderness of a lover.

“It’s beautiful here,” Maglor said as they walked down the shoreline near the water.

“It is,” Daeron said with a smile. “This is a sheltered bay, and storms are rare.” He turned, pointing toward the western edge of the beach. “Just up there is where you would have come in, had my trap not caught you. It is the only real way in, which is why it is guarded.”

The tide was low, the breezes soft, and the Sun was shining in a blue sky. Off to the east, there was a steep hill covered in dense vegetation, cutting off the beach from any approach other than by water from that direction. To the north, the trees grew thick and a cliff prevented access. To the south was the open sea beyond the bay.

Daeron gently touched the small harp in Maglor’s hand. “Will you play for me?” he asked.

“I would like nothing better,” Maglor answered. He sat down near the water, the breeze blowing his dark hair back, and began to slowly play a tune. At first it was an echo of the song they had written together, but then it changed, and Daeron rose from where he was sitting, and began to dance.

Maglor had seen dancers trained by Nessa herself, pure, wild, and perfect, a poetry of grace and motion in their every step. He had seen half-drunken dancing in mortal halls, loud and clumsy and cheerful. He had danced himself, in Valinor as a child for the sheer joy of it, as a minstrel at times as part of the entertainment, and very rarely, when alone under the stars, as every Elf has done at one time or another.

But he had never seen dancing like this. It was not perfect, not professional, but certainly not clumsy. It was a dance that seduced and promised and flirted, at times so blatantly that it was difficult to continue playing and not tumble Daeron into the sand.

And yet play he did, the tempo growing faster and more full of joy. Daeron laughed as he danced, feet flying, hands out, and finally as Maglor drew the song to a close, he dropped to his knees before him, breath coming fast, eyes shining, hair a wild mass of curls, a brilliant smile upon his face.

“You have seen my world,” he said. “Would you like to stay in it, for a while at least?”

Maglor set the harp aside, and reached out, gathering Daeron close. “I will stay,” he said, and kissed him. “I will stay right where you are.”


End file.
